


Got Your Back

by artemisgrace



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Field Mission, Friends Looking Out For Each Other, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Love, M/M, Their friendships are so important y'all, danger avoided, do not discount the importance of good friends, the slash signifies a romantic tie the and symbol signifies friendships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2020-01-06 18:29:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18393950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artemisgrace/pseuds/artemisgrace
Summary: An accidental encounter with some large, angry dualhorns leads to some fuzzy, happy feelings as Prompto considers how his friends have improved his life.





	Got Your Back

**Author's Note:**

> Written for @shae_c_art on Twitter for the FFXV Valentine's Day exchange! I really hope you like it and I'm sorry that it was delivered so dramatically late.

The light is perfect, golden, diffused through a soft, light mist that tempers whatever harshness the thin shadows of rocks and grass might have had. It’s late afternoon, but it has the look of morning, each twig and leaf tipped with dew as though the day were just dawning, cool and peaceful in a way that only places largely untouched by human hands can be . . . which is not to say that Prompto isn’t going to put his grubby little hands all over it.

All in all, it’s the ideal place the a perfect time for a little photography, and Prompto’s a devotee to the art form, even if it means climbing over precarious rocks, the soles of his shoes squeaking and sliding a bit on the damp surface as he scuttles along, cradling his camera in careful hands.

There’s a small stream at the bottom of the rocks, what must be the source of the cool mist that rises as the day wanes, and though the cold water that seeps into his shoes as he lands is a bit shocking at first, it quickly becomes pretty pleasant after a full day spent cooped up in the car. The others are back somewhere on the other side of the hill, setting up camp the way that Prompto should probably be doing, but as he’d explained to Iggy in the fifteen or so seconds it had taken him to dash away, golden hour only comes once a day, and it only lasts so long. He’s practically obligated to take advantage of it before it departs, otherwise, what kind of photographer would he be?

He sloshes a few steps forward, sending gentle ripples out before him as the stream trickles calmly past his feet, holding his camera up to his face to capture the lovely way the waning light dances across the water’s surface. It’s enchanting, and the photos are some portfolio-worthy stuff if he does say so himself, which is the reason he will give later for why he doesn’t notice the two not-insubstantially sized, armored, horned beasties seemingly enjoying the cool waters themselves, only about twenty yards away. 

There’s a moment of curious calm before the realization of just how screwed he is in the present place and time sets in, a moment in which he’s left to just stare at the massive beasts before him, and they’re left to stare at him, probably equally surprised to see him as he is to see them. But, Prompto imagines in the split second before terror and survival instinct take possession of his legs, they’re probably not nearly so scared as he is. 

Because sure, they’re out here for a hunt, but Prompto’s pretty sure they’re not here for these!

The calm in which he is frozen abruptly breaks as one of the animals bellows out, loud enough that Prompto, had he not been cradling his camera, would have covered his ears against the noise. At the sound, Prompto scrambles back up the slick rocks with a speed born of the instinct for self-preservation, one hand holding the camera tight to his chest to protect from the hard stone as the other grips at every available crag to haul himself upwards towards the safety of camp. The hope in his mind is that the beasts won’t be inclined enough to chase him to scale the rocks themselves, but as it turns out, while the journey may be somewhat slower for large animals with lots of weight to carry upon their frames, it hardly deters them. Not when they’re seriously pissed off 

They lumber their way up after him, still bellowing, and if only by the grace of years of jogging daily, Prompto manages to stay ahead of them, feet pattering rapidly across the ground as he leaps over small bushes and the occasional rocks that scatter the ground, making a beeline for camp. As the tents come into sight, Prompto begins to yell, at a pitch that might have been embarrassing, were he not currently concerned with trying really hard not to die in a frankly ridiculous way.

“GUYS!” he shouts as he reaches the top of the hill, calling to the distant, but growing ever closer, figures of Ignis, Gladio, and Noctis, “GUYS! INCOMING! HELP PLEASE!”

The first response is a particularly eloquent “haha what” from Noctis before Gladio, who has a much better immediate grasp of the situation even as the beast chasing Prompto has yet to come into their sight, gets his words in:

“Well fuck,” he says loud enough for Prompto to clearly discern, and it’s somehow more of a statement than an exclamation, another thing that might embarrass him, were two very pointy, very angry, wild animals not close on his trail.

“Yeah, fuck!” Prompto agrees, “They’re right behind me!”

“What’s behind you?” Ignis calls out to him, and Prompto is just too busy running to roll his eyes.

“I don’t know! Does it matter?!” he shouts back through heaving breaths as he keeps sprinting, “It’s big, pointy, and mad; come help me!”

“Yes, it matters,” Ignis argues as his ‘dad instincts’ or whatever come through, but to his credit and Prompto’s infinite relief, he does summon up his blades in preparation for combat, and takes off running in Prompto’s direction, cueing Gladio and Noctis to do the same just as the first beast clears the crest of the hill and begins charging after Prompto, towards the camp and Prompto’s advancing armed companions.

“That’s a dualhorn, Prom. Wait, you said ‘they’” Gladio points out as bounds forward, raising his greatsword to take the first strike against the beast, “How many is ‘they’?!”

“Two!” Prompto replies, dodging the swing of a massive horn and narrowly avoiding being gored by diving sideways, throwing himself onto the ground before rolling over onto his back and summoning one of his guns, “Two dualhorns, four horns in total!”

“Coulda been worse,” Noctis tosses the words over his shoulder as he warps past the others to take on the second beast as it crests the hill with a cry of rage at the increased number of intruders upon its territory.

Even as he lets off a few rounds, Prompto feels more than a little apologetic; these things hadn’t expected to see him any more than he’d expected to see them, and while he hadn’t meant to, Prompto had been the one to stumble into their personal space. Still, he doesn’t feel bad enough about it that he’s about to let himself get trampled into a puddle of former-Prompto, and he leaps to his feet to continue the fight, coordinating with his companions in a way that, despite the unfortunate circumstances, makes him feel kind of . . . nice. 

It’s nice to be part of the group.

They work together well, and it’s something that makes Prompto’s heart swell every time, no matter how dangerous the situation, no matter how dire the threat or intense the fear: the way that the four of them can operate as a team to take down their foes. 

It’s in the way that Gladio calls out to him for back up, making him feel useful. It’s the way that Ignis blocks a swinging claw or charging horn, reminding Prompto to be careful and making him feel cared for. It’s in the way that Noctis shouts out to tell Prompto that he’s made a particularly good shot, throwing over a wink for good measure, making Prompto feel, well . . . loved. 

The soft kisses that Noct will sometimes press to his bruised and scraped knuckles when they’re alone after the fight may have something to do with it, but moments like this one, in the midst of battle, though different, are just as special. They’re the concrete, inadmissible evidence that Prompto has a place here, alongside Noct, Iggy, and Gladio, that he’s a part of something bigger than just himself, and even more than that: that he’s a welcome part of it, that the others actually want him here. 

It’ll take him a while to live the ridiculousness of this particular incident down, Prompto knows, but the teasing will be fond, and if he’s entirely honest, he did walk right into this one, and once it’s all resolved, it’ll be pretty funny when viewed in retrospect. 

Blows are landed, blades slash, and when both beasts lie on the ground, the threat they presented dismissed, a teasing phrase or two are indeed thrown Prompto’s way, but those in themselves are comforting. They’re a comfort because the looks on the faces of his friends as they speak betray their concern and their relief now that the danger has passed: relief that the group, and that Prompto in particular, is okay. 

People didn’t worry about him like that before . . . 

Sometimes it’s still hard to believe it, the way that Gladio will ruffle Prompto’s hair playfully as he’ll pass by, or Ignis will give him an approving pat on the back. It’s still hard to understand how it could even be possible when Noct will wrap an arm around him to cuddle while they sleep at night in the tent; it still seems foreign, at times, to have people care so much and show it so readily. Love and affection like that still seem kind of strange. But it shouldn’t seem that way, not foreign nor strange. 

He’s still working on it, but luckily, he’s got the others to help with that. 

So when Gladio and Ignis go full dad-lecture on him afterwards, Prompto accepts, and frankly welcomes it, with a sheepish smile and an awkward shifting from one foot to the other. When Noctis takes his hand and asks him to look out for himself better with a soft press of lips to scraped fingers, Prompto smiles and promises that he will.

This won’t be the last time Prompto’s in physical danger. It’s not the first and certainly won’t be the last, probably not even the last time this week. It’ll happen again, and once that would have frightened him out of his wits, but now he’s not so worried anymore . . . because he knows there are three people in the world who have his back, no matter what comes their way.

**Author's Note:**

> (delivered seriously late due to some legitimately crazy life stuff and unexpectedly not having a place to live there for a bit, so I apologize to my Valentine and to those who've been waiting on other updates from me. It really couldn't be avoided)


End file.
